


Ships in the Night

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Literally And Figuratively, MFMMwhumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 19:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Several weeks after the events aboard thePandarus, Phryne and Jack once again find themselves aboard a ship harboring secrets and danger.Part of MFMM's 2019 Whumptober Fanfic Challenge.





	Ships in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> The kind and clever whopooh, who spearheaded this fanfic challenge both this year and last, has once again asked me to help kick off Whumptober. What is Whumptober you ask? Well it’s best explained in [this comprehensive Tumblr post](https://whopooh.tumblr.com/post/187622938453/mfmm-whumptober-challenge-2019), but the short answer is that it’s a month of whump, a fandom term meaning to lay physical and/or psychological abuse on a character in a story, but with a happy or comforting ending.
> 
> There are 31 whump prompts in total for this month. 
> 
> So there you have it. Or, you know... whump, there it is.*
> 
> Many thanks to Fire_Sign for the incredibly patient beta read!

The thing most people don't realize about criminals is that the majority of them are actually terrible shots. So, for example, when a smuggler had taken three close-range shots at Phryne five minutes earlier, two of the bullets had hit the door frame, and the other had grazed her shoulder.

Not that that was stopping her. Not that she had even acknowledged it.

Because the thing most people don't realize about Phryne is that she can blithely ignore almost anything if she puts her mind to it. And today she was doing it with aplomb.

Which was why they were currently wandering an enormous ship in the middle of the night looking for an escape instead of tending to her injury.

“At least wrap it,” Jack implored, addressing her black-blouse-clad back.

“Wrap what?” she asked, her voice at least an octave above normal.

He sighed. “Your shoulder, Miss Fisher.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder, Jack,” she insisted, lifting a beam to open a door that led down yet one more level on this behemoth of a ship.

“Your argument would be stronger if I couldn’t literally see the wound through the tear in your blouse,” Jack told her, stepping through the door she had just opened, using his left hand to grab the rail at the top of the steps, and beginning to make his way down slowly.

“That’s an accent cutout, Jack. It’s not my fault you know nothing about fashion.”

He rolled his eyes, despite the fact that she couldn’t currently see him; it was the principle of the thing. “Fine. But if it gets infected, don’t blame me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She stopped, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs as the path abruptly ended and offered them only two options forward - left or right. She pursed her lips together and put a hand on her hip. “Which way do you think?” she asked.

Jack cocked his head. “I don’t suppose you have a coin we could flip?”

“I’m not sure where you think I’d hide a change purse in this outfit,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Jack didn’t answer, though he did conduct a very quick investigation, finding nothing but a lack of gallantry on his part. Before they could decide on a direction, though, a noise from the right made their decision for them, and the detectives turned and swiftly headed left.

Deeper into the maze.

Deeper into jeopardy.

This hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea two hours ago. Investigate a suspicious cargo ship while the crew were all on shore leave. Jack even had permission from the ship’s overseas owner to search it. They had suspected there were illicit materials on board, being smuggled into Australia from parts unknown within legitimate shipments. But no one - not Jack, not Phryne, not the owner of the vessel nor the dockmaster who’d tipped off the police - knew the full extent.

The _Segredo_, as it turned out, was full of thousands of pounds of cocaine and a veritable army of smugglers, who were both very much not on leave and also very willing to kill to protect their operation.

An operation to which Phryne and Jack now posed a significant threat.

They’d surprised three of the smugglers in the helm, but hadn’t seen the fourth until it was too late and he was firing at Phryne while Jack pulled her out of the way. Slamming the door shut, they’d barricaded the men inside and raced to make their getaway. But the gangplank they’d used to gain entry was now guarded by more armed men and, lacking any backup, the two detectives made an abrupt decision to seek alternate escape options.

Which is how they now found themselves deep within the labyrinth of the ship, trying to find a way off whilst simultaneously avoiding the army of smugglers.

So, yes, two hours later this was most definitely a terrible idea.

But, nonetheless, they continued on.

Left, right, right. They kept moving, but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

“We need to start upwards again soon,” Jack said. “We’re too pinned down on this level.”

“I know,” Phyrne replied. “But I’m trying to get us to the other side of the ship first.” She turned back to look at him and noticed for the first time the tightness around his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, maneuvering past some boxes which, given what they’d found earlier in the night, Jack was fairly certain were filled with cocaine.

“Fine,” he grunted, moving past the same boxes with considerably more difficulty.

“Rubbish,” she said, turning to face him fully. “You look upset. Are you cross with me? Because this is decidedly not my fault.”

“I never said it was,” he told her, gesturing with his left hand for her to continue down the hall.

“It’s _not_,” she argued, though she did start to move again. “I was perfectly happy to sit at home with my knitting tonight. You’re the one who wanted to conduct a midnight raid.”

“First of all, unless your single point needles are a martini glass and a banned book, when I called on you tonight you were clearly not knitting. And secondly,” he grit his teeth a bit, “I never said this was your fault.”

“Well… good.” Phryne found another door and began pushing the bar aside. “You could help me with this, you know.”

“It looks to me that you have it well in hand, Miss Fisher.” Jack said dryly. He nodded at her look of irritation. “And besides, I am concentrating on where those voices are coming from. Or trying to anyway,” he said pointedly.

She had the bar up and the door open now, so after another moment where Jack determined that the voices were not in front of them, they stepped through.

More stairs, but these were at least headed topside.

“Onwards and upwards, Jack!” Phryne instructed brightly, pausing for a moment to put some pressure on her shoulder after exerting so much effort on the door.

“If I asked you very nicely,” Jack began, speaking quietly behind her, “would you allow me to wrap it?”

Phryne didn’t turn, shaking her head softly. “I’m fine, Jack. Truly. And we need to hurry.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “But promise you’ll have it seen by a doctor?”

“Just as soon as we’re on dry land,” she confirmed, beginning to move up the stairs. “Which will hopefully be very soon if we can find a lifeboat quickly. And if worst comes to worst, we can just find somewhere to hide on the ship for an hour or two. I told Dot that if she hadn’t heard from us by midnight to send in the cavalry.”

“Well that was… surprisingly sensible of you,” Jack noted, slowly beginning his own assent.

“Let’s just say I don’t recall late night raids on docked ships fondly and leave it at that,” she told him. Jack groaned softly and Phryne turned to look at him. He was looking down, pain stretched across the expanse of his lips. Phryne noticed and frowned.

“Jack?”

“I hit my head on the side when the ship rolled just now,” he explained. “It would be nice if the stairs stayed still.”

Phryne tightened her grip on the rail, and more fully focused her keen gaze on him.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

He finally looked up to meet her eyes and sighed. “No, actually, it’s not. We are currently trying to escape an as yet undetermined number of armed men, all of whom have incentive to want us dead, we’re lost, and to top it off, the _damn ship keeps moving_.” He nodded upwards. “So if we could hurry up?”

Phyrne wanted to argue, but he was right, which was very irritating.

They traversed the stairs without further incident, and began winding their way through the middle level.

As they walked, Phryne felt the walls, trying to keep them to the outside of the ship - it wouldn’t do to arrive on the top deck in the middle of the action. Before they found another set of stairs, though, a flurry of distant, angry voices had them maneuvering behind a bulkhead for cover, just in case the voices were headed their way. Forced to stay still for a moment, Phryne turned her head to the right to once again examine Jack, though it was not an easy feat in the dim light.

Speaking as quietly as she could, she leaned towards him. “Is everything alright, Jack?”

“Are you joking?” he replied. “Do you see where we are?”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re… you’re worrying me.”

“Well that’s a novel change,” he muttered. “It’s usually the other way around.”

“I’m serious,” she told him. “What’s wrong?”

Jack sighed. “It’s… it’s as you say; midnight dockside raids drag up some rather unpleasant memories.” He paused, his voice rough like this confession was costing him something. “And ten minutes ago _another_ man on _another_ ship was shooting at you in the dark. Forgive me for being a little anxious in the aftermath as we attempt to escape with our lives.”

There was a silence between them for a moment, heavy, though with what neither was sure.

“It’s not the same, though,” she reminded him.

He sighed again. “I realize the circumstances are not identical, but — ”

“No, what I mean is, _we’re_ not the same.”

“No?”

“No,” she told him. “We weren’t together then. Searching the ship, I mean.” She turned to look at him, though in the dim light she could really only make out his profile. “For the record, I prefer it this way. I prefer _us_ this way. Together.”

“And are we?” Jack asked quietly. “Together?”

The weight of that question hit her hard, and she hastily turned her head away again; suddenly, even the familiarity of his profile felt far too intimate. But Phryne wasn’t a coward, either, and so she searched to find the right words to explain.

“Jack… before the _Pandarus_, before _after_ the _Pandarus, _I didn’t know what we were. Or, rather, what we _could be_.”

He was quiet, except for his breathing which sounded loud and slightly ragged in the dark. Finally he asked, “And now?”

“I still don’t know,” she admitted. “But _now..._ now I would like to. Very much.” Her right hand found his left in the quiet and shadowed alcove, and she squeezed it softly. 

“And,” she added meaningfully, “my aunt is nowhere near Wardlow tonight.”

In that moment, despite everything, Jack smiled.

“Well then, I believe it’s time we continued on, don’t you?” Reluctantly, he released her hand and, after another brief pause to make sure the voices were still moving away, they were gone. Minutes later they were up another set of stairs and then on deck, looking up at the moon from the opposite side of the ship as the well-guarded gangplank.

Silently, Phryne and Jack crept towards the rail. 

“Damn,” she hissed. “No lifeboat.”

“It was a thin hope,” he reminded her, grabbing the rail with both hands to lean over slightly for a better view.

“Oh! Jack, look!” Phryne pointed out towards the not-too-distant distance. There, bobbing in the water, was another, smaller ship. And it was just close enough to get to if they gave it their all. 

“We’ll need to swim for it,” she said, already starting to remove her shoes. “It’s a stretch, but I think I can do it, even with the shoulder.”

“Are you admitting,” he said, a little more breathlessly than their recent climb had warranted, “that you are, in fact, injured?”

“Barely,” she conceded. “And besides, if I falter at all you can always steady me,” she told him with a wink.

With a chastising sigh, Jack pulled his hands back from the rail, but stumbled a little as he did. Phryne opened her mouth, ready to tease him that the ship wasn’t even rocking right now, but the moon was full and suddenly she could see what she had not before.

There was a hand print on the rail. It was red and it was fresh and it was Jack’s.

Phryne’s eyes traveled in silent horror from the mark to the hand itself, now back to its resting place on his abdomen, under his coat.

Jerking her gaze up towards his face, she once again took in the pained smile on his lips, the tightness around his eyes, and realized it wasn’t what she’d thought at all.

Because the thing most people don't realize about bullets is that when they miss their mark, they often bounce off of whatever solid surface they do hit. So, for example, when a smuggler had taken three close-range shots at Phryne fifteen minutes earlier, one of the bullets that had hit the metal door frame had bounced and hit Jack instead.

And he had been bleeding out ever since.

“Jack…” His name on her lips was no more than a breath, but saying it aloud seemed to have the same effect as casting a magical spell. With just one syllable of understanding, he lost the ability to keep up appearances, to bluff, to stand. He slowly sank down the side of the ship to the floor, all the while holding his wound with his right hand.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to steady you after all,” he said, the humour of his words undone by the pain in his voice.

“How bad?” she asked even as she removed her blouse to staunch the bleeding, her medical training rusty but never forgotten.

“Worse than a papercut,” he admitted, moving his hand aside so she could apply pressure.

“Jesus,” she whispered when she finally saw the wound. “How did you… why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have slowed down for me and there wasn’t time. We would have been caught. _You_ would have been caught. Doing it this way meant the odds of you escaping were good, and, if we got very lucky, maybe I would as well.” His head rolled a little and he gave her a little lopsided grin. “I would have liked to get lucky with you.”

“There’s still time,” she said, aiming for flirtatious but landing more on desperate as she applied more pressure.

“I don’t think so, Miss Fisher. I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of our waltz.”

“The hell we have!” she told him, all her fake coquettishness gone, replaced by pure rebuke.

Voices coming from the direction of the gangplank started getting louder, announcing the imminent presence of unwanted company. 

He shook his head. “Go,” he said. “Over the side, swim to the ship, don’t look back.”

“I am not leaving you,” she hissed, but her indignation was somewhat undercut by the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes.

“I’m not giving you a choice.” He tried to sound commanding, but his strength was almost entirely gone now and the words didn’t have any force behind them. Still, as Phryne’s tears started to fall, Jack somehow rallied to lift his left hand to her cheek. He brushed them aside and looked her in the eye. “To the hilt, Phryne. Promise.... promise me you’ll never waste a moment.”

He would have kissed her then, but he couldn’t seem to rally twice. Pity. His hand fell away and his head fell back. 

“Jack!” she screamed, anguished and raw. “JACK!”

The voices were almost on top of them now.

Phryne looked down at Jack, unconscious at her side, and then up at the ship’s rail. She stood, removed her gun from her pocket and squared her stance, waiting for the smugglers to arrive.

Because the thing about Phryne Fisher that most people realized too late is that she never, ever gives up.

A man rounded the corner and Phryne took aim.

\---------------------

Heaven, Jack realized, was underwhelming.

For one thing, it was cold. It was also quite painful and very, very dry.

Oh. Maybe this wasn’t heaven. Well that was disappointing.

Jack tentatively opened his eyes. Heaven / not heaven was very dimly lit, and there appeared to be a… fern? in the corner. Next to the fern was a window. And next to the window was Miss Fisher.

And she was knitting?

Jack gave up trying to decide if this was heaven or hell because clearly all the laws of the known universe had been thrown into disarray anyway if Miss Fisher was _knitting_.

Instead, he tried to clear his throat, but only managed to send himself into an arduous coughing fit.

At the sound, Phryne jumped up, suspicious knitting immediately forgotten, and found him a glass of water. She carefully held it to his lips and let him take a few sips before pulling it back again.

“Welcome back, Jack,” she whispered, gently brushing a lock of hair off his face.

“Good — ” Another cough. “Good to be back,” he whispered. And then she smiled at him and Jack decided that maybe this was heaven after all. 

“How long?” he asked, the words raspy as he once again regained the power of speech.

“Almost 24 hours. You gave us quite a scare.” She reached out as though to touch him again, but for some reason pulled back at the last moment. “How are you feeling?” she asked instead.

“Terrible,” he admitted. “But also alive, so wonderful.” He furrowed his brow as a memory came back. “How’s the shoulder?”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with his priorities. “Fine. Just a scratch, Jack, as I said. It barely even needed stitches. Unlike you, who needed… well, quite a bit more. Luckily we got you to the hospital just in time.”

He nodded, still somewhat shocked he had made it at all. “How...?”

“Dot. And Hugh. As it turns out, our time aboard the _Pandarus_ was rather memorable for them as well. Dot called Hugh far earlier than our agreed upon time, and once he spoke to the dockmaster, and learned there was a sudden flurry of activity aboard the ship, he gathered reinforcements and boarded it. That’s who we were hearing when… when we were on deck.” She gave him another smile, this one tighter than the last. 

“Are you done with the water?” she asked suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, Phryne turned around and replaced Jack’s glass, then moved to look out the window, though at what he had no idea - it was dark and he couldn’t imagine the view was worth writing home about.

“Hugh is quite lucky I have such excellent eyesight,” she told the room in general. “Otherwise I might have shot him before I realized who was rounding that corner.”

In his bed, Jack frowned. “Shot him? Why did you have your gun drawn?” 

Then realization hit and his eyes narrowed in frustration.

“You were never going to jump, were you?” he asked her, though it wasn’t really a question. “You decided to make a last stand like something out of a bloody western. Dammit, Phryne, I told you — ”

“How are you feeling?” she asked again, whirling around to face him.

His eyes narrowed further. “Still terrible. Why?”

“Because,” she moved over to his bed and leaned down until her face was mere inches from his. “I have plans for you once you’re not feeling terrible.”

“Do you?” he asked, his tone landing somewhere between wary and hopeful.

“Mmmm. Just so you know, once you’re feeling better, I have every intention of shoving you, _hard_, and repeatedly.”

“You… I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Shoving you. Right in the chest. Possibly down a flight of stairs.” She straightened up and glared at him. “What the hell were you thinking? We were running around for an hour — ”

“Twenty minutes at most.”

“— and in all that time you don’t disclose the fact that you’ve been _shot_?” She was pacing now. Properly pacing and gesticulating wildly with her hands. “Shot, Jack, and bleeding to death right next to me.”

“I was trying — ”

“No. Stop talking. I don’t care what your motivation was. We are a _team_, Jack Robinson. _Partners_. At least we’re supposed to be. And that means you don’t get to make decisions for me, just like I don’t get to make them for you.”

“Another novel change,” he muttered mutinously.

“You know what, Jack, it is. It is because I thought we were moving towards something new. But if we keep hiding things from each other, if we don’t treat each other like equals, it doesn’t work. And yes, I have made mistakes in regard to this before, but you… last night you gambled your _life_ and you didn’t even grant me the courtesy of knowing what — ”

“You’re right.”

She stopped pacing. “I’m sorry?”

“Actually, I think that’s my line.” He smiled awkwardly before turning serious once more. “I’m sorry, Phryne. It was the wrong call. I should have told you. I just wanted… it doesn’t matter. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have. I’m all in, Jack. But I need to know you are too.” She flopped down into the chair once more, her right arm hanging to the side, her left on the bed. Jack reached out, hesitating a moment before tentatively taking her hand in his.

“I am,” he assured her. “I’m all in. Together, yes?” She looked over at him and nodded. “I should have told you and I should have kissed you.” At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged, or at least did his best impression of shrug given the circumstances. “It seems I’ve been given a second chance, and I won’t make either mistake again.”

“I should hope not,” she replied, her lips curling up in just the faintest hint of a smile.

“And thank you,” he told her sincerely, “for saving my life.”

She rolled her eyes as if to deflect the gratitude. “It wasn’t just me, you know. It was also a team of doctors and the most singularly focused gaggle of constables you’ve ever seen in your life."

He nodded, but did not let go of her hand. She didn't let go either.

"Plus,” she continued, suddenly breaking eye contact as she brought her free hand up to fiddle with a loose thread on her sweater, “it’s a very nice life. And it turns out I’ve grown rather attached to it.”

She was still avoiding his gaze, but her expression was softer now and so Jack made a decision. He used their joined hands to pull her in closer until she was once again mere inches from his face. Given that he was currently weaker than rationed tea, she must have been quite willing to come to him, and that knowledge gave him the courage to move forward and kiss her like he’d wanted to on the ship.

Like he’d wanted to for months.

It wasn’t the most passionate kiss either had ever experienced, both of them hyper aware of his injuries, but here, in this moment that might never have been, it was perfect all the same.

After they pulled apart - Jack out of breath for reasons that unfortunately had nothing to do with her - Phryne caressed his cheek with her free thumb before returning to the chair, their hands still intertwined. As she did, Jack’s eyes slowly began to drift shut, the gentle, soothing rub of her thumb over his knuckles a balm to his soul. He began to relax and let the exhaustion overwhelm him once more.

Watching him closely, Phryne raised an eyebrow as he reclined. “Don’t think that kiss changes anything, though; I am still quite annoyed. And I am warning you, Inspector, no more getting shot. I mean it. Because the next thing I apply gentle pressure to, Jack, had better be your — ”

“Miss Fisher!” His eyes were open again now and so was his mouth.

She cackled and winked. He shook his head and pretended not to be amused.

“So,” he began once she was quiet again, “are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Which is?” she asked.

“You _knit_?”

Phryne scoffed. “Of course I knit. Just because I mostly choose not to doesn’t mean I lack the skill.”

Jack tried to shift in his hospital bed to see the pile of yarn, but it hurt too much and he ultimately gave up. “What are you making?” he asked.

“A blanket,” she replied. “For you.”

“For me?” He smiled, pleased if also a little confused.

“For your convalescence,” she clarified and his smile disappeared. 

“Thoughtful,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. 

“It really is,” she agreed, putting her feet up on the edge of the bed and getting more comfortable in the chair. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, their hands still intertwined. “I'm making it large enough to cover all manner of sin. We can do whatever we like below it and no one will even realize.”

Jack snorted, but didn’t open his eyes. Phryne smiled and kept hers closed as well.

And neither let go.

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed his back and, in the end, that is how they both fell asleep - together.

Because the thing about wasted moments was, Phryne and Jack were done with them.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story was “Secret Injury”, which I didn’t share upfront for obvious reasons. ;-)
> 
> As of this posting there are still 14 whump prompts left, so if you are so moved, [sign up and contribute](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xE_UBixlnJCfgUOfgjb6Elr1H2cdNvXGdgS31I2hEuk/edit#gid=0) to Miss Fisher's 31-derful Days of Pain and Comfort. All MFMM fan artists (writing, drawing, vidding, meta, etc.) welcome!
> 
> *I will never apologize for that pun. Never. Consider it a tradition now, people. :-D


End file.
